In the Dark
by DiMick
Summary: In the battle for the Enchanted Forest, Emma is captured by Rumpelstiltskin. But the dungeon she's thrown into already has one dangerous occupant...
1. Chapter 1

Rumpelstiltskin dragged the battered and bruised Emma Swan through dark and damp corridors. They were underground, she knew, the stillness of the air gave their location away. A dungeon, maybe, under the rock of his castle. Where that was, exactly, was a different matter, as she had been transported in a cloud of billowing smoke, picked off the battlefield wounded and defenceless. He paused, one hand clamped magically firm around her wrist, to open a cell door. The door screeched open, the hinges protesting against the unusual movement. "Enjoy the company," he hissed, before throwing Emma forward into the cell.

As soon as she crossed the line of the doorway, Emma felt the air shift, colder and more dangerous. Even without Rumpelstiltskin's warning, Emma would have known she was not alone.

"What's in here with me?" she called, stumbling backwards, afraid. Instead of landing on the hard floor, she fell into a soft, warm body. Out of the darkness behind her, a low voice spoke.

"It's not what, dear – who."

The voice sent shivers down her spine, trembles of fear, primal and instinctive, yet also comforted in its familiarity. Better the devil you know, Emma thought, better Henry's mom than a dragon or a lion or some other terrifying creature. At least Regina, with her anger and hatred, was a known quantity.

"Do enjoy your stay, Miss Swan," Rumpelstiltskin sang. He laughed, high and fevered, and turned to skip down the corridor, light disappearing into the blackness. The lack of light was absolute, and Emma could not even see the bars in front of her face. Were she someone else, she thought, another kid from care – even a younger version of herself – panic and meltdown would be imminent. Instead, she turned around, tried to focus on the space in front of her, on the body beneath her own, unmoving.

"You're hurt," said Regina. "I can smell the blood on you." Emma winced, the pitch black preventing her from seeing the extent of her wound, but she could still feel it, burning into the muscle of her thigh. She shifted, running her hands down her injured leg, taking stock, the clotting blood sticking to her palms. Don't be weak, she told herself – don't let her see you weak.

"It's nothing. Barely a scratch." Even in the dark, the other woman's hand unerringly found Emma's leg, and the gaping cut along its length. Regina hissed, and the hands temporarily withdrew, before beginning to glow and descending again to her leg. In all the movies Emma had ever seen, magical healing was soft, painless, a warm glow and honey feeling. This, however, hurt like hell. With each passing second, Emma could feel the muscle, skin and sinew in her leg move and knit back together.

The movies got one thing right, at least – the soft glow that flowed from Regina's hands, lighting up her face. The face Emma saw made her gasp in shock, and the unexpected noise made Regina jump, breaking the glow and causing Emma to hiss in pain. The queen's face was sunken, her hair hanging limp around her face, eyes black pits in the paleness of her skin. Even in the gloaming, Emma could see the weight loss in the inward curve of the cheeks, in the pinched and pained expression, in the lines and tensions of her neck.

The healing over, Emma leant forward and held Regina's wrist, stopping her retreating into the darkness.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, and felt, rather than saw, the answering shrug.

"Time passes strangely down here, without any light. It might be days, might be years, for all I know."

xXx

Emma woke, fretful, to soft hands pressing on her forehead. Despite the cool air and colder floor, she felt hot, flushed, and beads of sweat rolled down her chest.

"Your leg's infected," said Regina. "There are many things to dislike about the other world, but your medicine was certainly useful." Her hands began to glow, and Emma reached up to grip the loose fabric of Regina's jacket, bunching the material in her hand in expectation of the pain.

"Yeah," she ground out, teeth and fist clenched together, "and indoor plumbing." This time, instead of withdrawing out of reach, Emma felt Regina's warmth settle on the floor beside her, legs almost touching, hand still resting over the healing wound. Silence stretched between them, and Emma rested her head against the wall, and closed her eyes.

Some time after Emma's third sleep – whether or not that was a good measure of time, Emma didn't know – heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, and a squad of guards marched into sight. They carried torches, and the bright flickering hit Emma's eyes, and made her flinch, cower against the wall, arm raised to shield herself from the light. The door was unlocked, and a tray of food roughly pushed along the floor.

As the torch light receded down the corridor Emma, ravenous, tried to fall on the tray, only to have it pulled from under her.

"Hey!" she said, "Give that back. I'm hungry." Groping blindly for Regina and the food, her hands caught nothing but cold air. She moved around the cell, trying to find the other woman, trailing her hands across the walls, scuffing her feet along the floor, leaving no spot unsearched. Unsuccessful, she slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall, only to have a soft piece of bread and meat pushed into her hand.

"We must ration it, Miss Swan. Who knows when we'll next be fed."

"You know what I miss," Emma said, her mouth full of bread, "hamburgers and fries, drenched in mayonnaise. With a big Coke, and chocolate popcorn." Regina snorted in distaste.

"It's that Chinese, off Main Street, that I miss. Pork chow mein, with crab and sweetcorn soup. Now that is real food."

"Oh God," Emma moaned. "That restaurant was good. Mary Margaret and I used to order on Fridays. But right now, this bread and meat tastes pretty damn good too."

Regina laughed, a genuine sound, that echoed down the corridor and back. In the darkness, Emma imagined the woman, laughing with her head thrown back, frown lines erased and mouth turned up. That would be a sight to see, she told herself: in Emma's imagination, the laugh made Regina look younger, softer, like a friend.

The food came irregularly – sometimes the guards had barely gone when the cell was lit up once again, and at other times, the periods of darkness stretched for years without noise or light to break them. Rumpelstiltskin had not reappeared, and Emma supposed that he was tied up fighting what was left of her parents' forces. When the guards came, they didn't speak to the prisoners, just opened the door, deposited the food, and left. They seemed, to Emma, relaxed and unguarded – for unspeaking, sword-carrying, chain-mailed guards that is. Once, after a particularly lax food delivery, Emma broke the silence.

"Why don't you just knock them flying with magic, and we'll make a run for it?" In the dark beside her, Regina sighed and tutted.

"The wards on this cell, Miss Swan, as any child should know, prevent anything magical, or tainted by magic, from either entering or leaving."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that even if this door were wide open, I could not leave. And nor could you, in fact, until the spell holding your leg together wears away."

Emma dragged her hand across her eyes, not that it made much difference to her vision, but the familiar motion comforted her. "I guess we wait then," she said, voice despondent. Regina made no reply, and Emma felt herself slump against the wall, the only indication of an end to the darkness. A warm hand gripped her arm, and pulled her bodily down, until her head was resting on a shoulder, an arm around her back.

xXx

"So why do it? Why curse everyone you ever knew, and to Maine of all places!"

"I wanted to end their happiness, as mine had been ended. Simple as that."

"Tell me about it."

"When I was young, I fell in love with someone who my parents considered 'beneath me'. I didn't care, I would have been happy. But I was engaged to a King, and my mother, when she found out, could not risk her social standing and ambition. So she murdered my lover, right in front of me." Regina felt her hand enclosed and squeezed by Emma's in a silent show of support. Despite the darkness, she knew that Emma's eyes were trained on her, her gaze a physical weight, roaming her face. "None of it would have happened had I not trusted Snow White with my secret. And I could never forgive her, especially when she was so happy herself."

"So what was this someone's name?" Emma asked, feeling Regina pull away, tense and awkward. As soon as the pressure of Emma's hand lessened, Regina moved, her warmth and hand disappearing into the cold darkness of the cell.

"Daniel," she said, softly. "His name was Daniel, and he was our stable boy."

"A boy," Emma repeated, and her tone sounded strained to her own ears. A moment paused, and she wondered, embarrassed, at just what Regina had inferred. Finally, Regina spoke, and her voice sounded far-off, as though coming from a great distance, through a fog of memories.

"Yes, just a boy. And I was just a very young girl. Too young to die, too young to fall in love."

"Do you know that there's no age of consent here? I mean, kids get married at like 13 or something. That's too young for anything. I never thought I'd say it – but I miss American laws, you know." The warmth of Regina shifted back, moved closer, sending the chill scurrying to the corners of the cell.

"Yes," came the reply, "and those that enforce them."

xXx

"Emma," Regina said, pulling Emma from her daydreams. "The magic, on your leg, has faded. You're magic free. The wards would no longer hold you." In the distance, the chink of amoured footsteps drew nearer, flickering shadows breaking the dark. Half-remembered happiness scattered from Emma's mind, her whole attention focused on the present. "That plan of yours, you remember, it would work now." Emma reached out, and her hand connected softly with the other woman's cheek, cupping and caressing.

"Not for you," she said, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I'll come back for you, Regina, I promise." She kept her tone hushed, voice low and quiet, not wanting her words to travel to the approaching guards. She could feel the other woman smile against her hand, the corners of her mouth turning down.

"I know, Emma. I'm sure you will." Emma would have replied, called Regina on her obvious lie, the resignation heavy in her voice, but the mocking voice of the guard stopped her.

"Well isn't this a tender scene." Regina flinched, and drew away, cowering from the torch thrust in their direction. Emma made sure to look away, shoulders down, head bent, the image of defeat. She stood, slowly, as if to receive the tray, as a bright flash of purple smoke lit the cell, blinding her. When her eyes cleared, she could make out the outline of the unconscious guards slumped by the flickering torch, lying sprawled across the open cell door.

"Go!" said Regina, "quickly. Before the magic is detected."

Moving to the door, Emma picked up the sword of the fallen guard. She paused, turned back to the now solitary occupant of the cell.

"I'll be back for you, Regina. Count on it." She smiled, brightly, trying to impart confidence in the woman left behind, before turning and running.


	2. Chapter 2

The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly before her, the weight of the sword in her hand slowing her, pulling and sapping her weakened strength. As she reached the door, she stopped, listening intently for signs of movement on the other side. The thick wood of the door gave nothing away, but in the distance she could hear the sounds of rousing guards. Spurred into action, Emma lifted the door handle and peered around the doorframe into an empty corridor, blinking in the sudden sunlight. The castle seemed suspiciously deserted, the usual hustle and frenzied movement of servants totally missing. No guard, or maid, or hurried courtier rushed past her, no sounds of life drifted along the stone flagged floor. Had she not known that this castle was definitely lived in, Emma might have assumed it abandoned. The silence weighed oppressively on her ears, and her eyes watered and squinted as they adjusted to the unaccustomed light.

'Stand here much longer, Swan,' she thought to herself, 'and it's the threat from behind you'll be dealing with. Not a quiet corridor.' Spurred on, Emma forced her leaden feet to move, dragging herself towards a set of stairs leading up. She paused by the small window, feeling the breeze blow across her face, and stared out at the landscape. Mountains and trees greeted her gaze, yet she saw no discernible landmarks with which to locate herself. 'Regina would know where we are,' she thought. Regina. The woman still trapped in the darkness of Rumpelstiltskin's dungeon, caged by the very magic that ran through her veins. Snow White's bitter enemy, scourge of the kingdoms, curser of worlds, and Emma's tentative ally.

Stumbling slightly, limbs weak from imprisonment and hunger, Emma climbed the stairs, sword moving before her protectively. Up and up she climbed, until reaching another door, finer and more sophisticated than the last, and behind this one, she could hear life. Here then was the bustle of servants, the clang of kitchen implements, harried shouts of workers as they called to each other across the busy room. Even in the half-light of the stairs, Emma could see the dirt staining her clothes, feel the way her hair hung lank around her face, and the way her eyes stared, gaunt, out of her sunken cheekbones. Had she not been carrying a sword, she still would have drawn attention. Still, there was nothing for it – if she wanted to leave, to save the kingdom and release Regina, she would have to cross the kitchen.

Squaring her shoulders, and drawing herself as tall and confident as she could, she turned the handle of the door, and stepped through into the bright room. The movement and noise stilled immediately, the silence spreading out from her in a shockwave. No-one moved, and Emma thought it best.

"Stay where you are," she growled, trying to inject as much danger and threat into her voice as possible. What would Regina say, she thought, willing some of the former mayor's icy detachment and impressive intimidation skills to her aid. "Nobody move!" She sounded like a cop from a bad action movie, rather than someone totally in control. It seemed to work however, the servants staring at her wide-eyed and stock still. "That's it nice and softly." She moved slowly towards the only other door in the room, one she assumed led into the main castle and not back down to the dungeon. She grabbed a nearby girl, pulled her close to her face, and watched as the girl squirmed in fright and repugnance. "Just tell me where Rumplestiltskin is, and I'll quietly leave, alright?" The girl's hands came up to lock around Emma's wrist, weakly struggling against her hold. The fear in her eyes made Emma feel guilty for a moment, before shaking the girl loosely. "Where is he?"

"The library," the girl whimpered, and her eyes flicked to the door, indicating Emma's direction. "Along the corridor, on the right." The effort of holding the girl up close had tired Emma's arm, and she dropped the girl faster than she intended. She looked around the kitchen again, sword waving threateningly.

"Send anyone after me, and I will crush you all," she growled, backing out of the door. Now that was definitely more Regina. This corridor was far more finely decorated than the last, with large windows at either end. The light streamed in, the mirrors lining the walls reflecting the sunshine back at her. There was no time to allow her eyes to adjust, not this far into her enemy's castle, so Emma screwed up her eyes and turned right. Before long she found herself in front of large double doors that reached up well above her head, meeting in elaborate swirls.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Emma pushed the handle down and the door open. She burst through the doors, opening into the largest private library she had ever seen. The room seemed empty, so Emma allowed herself a loud whistle of appreciation. There were whole towns that didn't contain this many books; Henry would love it. Moving cautiously through the room, Emma checked each high-backed chair for hidden occupants. Beside one, on a side table, sat a still cooling tea cup. Half-drunk, the liquid had only been placed there recently, and Emma knew that the drinker would likely be back soon. She had to be quick in her search.

Nearby on a wooden plinth sat an old, leather-bound tome, its pages cracked and yellowed with age. Something about it called to Emma, standing out bright in her mind. I'm important, it seemed to say, look at me. As Emma looked at it, the words on the page shifted, slipped, the sentences running away from her grasp. As she turned each page, she had time to read only the title of the spell, before the writing slipped and swirled into nonsense. Leafing quickly through, she stopped as she saw the word 'wards' slide down the page. If Regina knew how the wards keeping her imprisoned were cast, put together, perhaps she could work them in reverse, break them, and escape. She took her hand to the page's corner, tearing it and the leaves beneath right out of the binding, hastily rearranging the book to cover her damage. As she slipped the pages beneath her shirt, the door of the library creaked open, and a woman's laughter drifted into the room.

Emma moved, sitting herself in the high-winged chair, hoping the intruder would pass through, unobserving. But it seemed, instead, that the tea's owner had come to reclaim it, and the footsteps and laughter drew ever closer. Emma hunched further into the chair, adjusting her grip on the sword. What had James taught her? Short stabbing motions – overhand grip, one handed. Although she had no desire to stab anyone, Emma needed to look convincing, threatening, a real danger with the sharpened metal in her hand.

A young woman in a bright blue dress stepped into Emma's view, still glancing over her shoulder. As she turned to pick up her tea, her eyes locked onto the dirty blonde sat crouched in her chair, and she froze. She started to speak, to call out, but Emma gestured for her to be silent, eyes narrowing with bloody intent. The expression must have been quite murderous, for the young woman paled, and shook. From outside the library, a voice called.

"Everything alright, dearie?" The girl paused, and Emma nodded, motioning for her to speak.

"Yes, Rumpel," she called, "just getting my tea". Her voice cracked and wavered, the lie unconvincing, and Emma closed her eyes, knowing she was about to be discovered.

Her eyes were still closed, her hearing sharpened by the artificial darkness, when the sword was pulled roughly from her grasp. She opened them again, serene and calm, resigned, to see the girl holding the sword, tremblingly, at her throat. From behind her, the light footsteps of the deal maker, so different to those of Mr Gold, tripped across the carpet to her hiding point.

"Miss Swan!" he exclaimed, as if she was a guest dropping in for dinner, "how lovely to see you again. It's been some time, I must admit. Were your accommodations not to your taste? Or maybe it was the company." He smiled, coldly, his eyes almost comically wide. He looked her up and down, assessing. "But then again, maybe she was." Unthinkingly Emma started for him, hands stretched into claws, but was held back in the chair by the point of the sword, catching at her throat. The point broke the skin there, and Emma recoiled in pain, feeling the slow trickle of blood begin its way into her shirt collar.

"Now Belle, we mustn't hurt our guest here. Her Mummy and Daddy are very important people." He ran his fingers along the edge of the blade, lightly, flicking the point down and away from Emma. "Why don't you leave us dearie, perhaps find the man who lost his sword so carelessly." The girl, Belle, looked between the two suspiciously, hesitating, before lowering the sword and leaving the room without a word, or backwards glance.

The door closed, and time passed in silence. A clock ticked loudly nearby, and Emma could hear her own weakened pants for breath. The fight, that will beat and not be beaten, so strong all her life, was suddenly gone, and Emma found she had no strength to play the man's games.

"Just send me back there. Or kill me." Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, surprised.

"Send you back? Oh no dearie, you seem to have gotten on with the witch far better than I intended. That won't happen again. And kill you?" He laughed, the sound bouncing from the book lined room and filling Emma's head. "You're far too precious for that, Miss Swan. No, I think it's time I made a little deal."

He leant forward, balancing on his toes, featherweight, and grasped her hand. The world fell away in a sick kaleidoscope of colour, turning on itself, shifting through and through, until it stopped, sharp, and Emma fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The floor underneath her hands was not the polished wood of the library, but hard cobbles, meant for hobnailed boots and donkey carts. The wind carried with it the spicy scent of cooking food, and as Emma looked around, she could see she was in a market, its coloured stalls and stands stretching out into the distance. She made to stand up, wincing at the pain in her knees and hands.

Rumpelstiltskin called out, his voice high above the market day crowd.

"Snow? Are you there? I have something for you!"

Idiot, Emma thought. Even in Storybrooke, Snow White ordered her groceries mostly online, and now that she had servants... Well, this location was about as far from a usual hangout as possible. She was contemplating a clean run for it, planning her line between the stalls, dodging, keeping low and out of sight. Giving one man with a limp the slip shouldn't be all that hard. After all, she'd had experience running from the cops, and of chasing down those running too. Before she could move, however, a hand was at the back of her neck, and a dagger pressed to her throat.

"Snow White," he said, "there you are. You see, I found this," he paused, mulling his words, "Sherriff, sneaking around my castle, sword drawn. She's quite the threat, and I can't have her around any longer. So what do you say we make a deal? Your precious daughter, and in return -". He broke off, his fingers digging tighter into Emma's neck. She frantically signed at Snow to leave her, to back off, not to make a deal that would benefit no-one but the imp.

"Name your price," Snow said, and Emma felt herself again thrown forward by Rumpelstiltskin. Except this time, there was no soft body to land on. As she felt her nose crack as it hit the stone under the fetid puddle a memory surfaced. God, she missed modern medicine. And indoor plumbing.


	3. Chapter 3

"The boy," he said, "the Saviour's son. To live with me – a guest not my prisoner – until the evening of his eighteenth birthday." From her position on the floor, Emma could see the calculations hiding behind Snow's eyes. The worried gaze flickered between her daughter, sprawled across the cold ground, and the man who had thrown her there.

"No," Emma croaked, hand coming up to hold her damaged face, "No." Rumpelstiltskin merely smiled down at her and laughed.

"This is not your deal, Miss Swan." His gaze returned to Snow, and he scratched his ear, casually, as if the deal's outcome meant nothing to him. "The boy will not be harmed," he said, softly. "I will treat him quite as my own son."

A dwarf, stood behind Snow White, moved forwards, touched the queen's arm and shook his head. A moment of silent communication seemed to pass between them, and when Snow looked back at deal-maker, her expression was set.

"No," said Emma again, "don't." Her mother paused, avoiding Emma's eyes, then nodded once. A sob broke its way free of Emma' throat, half-muffled by her injury and hand. She started forward, stumbling to stand, reaching for the man in front of her.

"A deal is a deal, Miss Swan." He laughed, manically, and disappeared, leaving his cackles echoing around the suddenly still square. Emma stood, staring at the newly vacated space, mouth open and throat dry. She kept her back to the royal entourage, shoulders hunched against their stares. A hand slid to her back, comforting.

"Emma, you have to understand. What I did –" Emma turned, and faced her mother.

"What you did," she spat, "was vile." She shrugged off the other woman's touch, retreated backwards. "How could give my son to that man?" She paused, the sudden lump in her throat stopping her speech. "My son, Snow." And Regina's, her mind supplied, Regina, who is counting on you to save her, not endanger Henry too. "Mine. He wasn't yours to give away."

"Emma, don't you see. You've been there, inside that castle. If we have you, we can stop Rumpelstiltskin, and save Henry."

Emma stared, incredulous. She could feel her mouth twitching, ticking with anger. The furious pounding of her heart caused her nose to thump and throb, bolt of pain shooting across her face with every beat. "I need the doctor," she said, pushed past Snow White, head turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

Later, some foul smelling salve smeared across her face, Emma found herself sat brokenly on her son's bed. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes, and let herself imagine the darkness belonged in a dungeon, magically sealed and dangerously occupied. She imagined herself, imprisoned again, talking to someone she was supposed to hate.

"They're supposed to be the good ones, Regina," she said, out loud. "But kind of good uses a child as a bargaining chip? What kind of mother would do that to someone else's son?" She felt an arm slip around her, cradling her head from the rough stone, and a kiss press into her hair. As she moved, the dry spell pages rustled under her shirt. "If only she'd refused, I'd have got us both out of there." Tears built up under her lids, and she screwed her face against them, but they fell hot and fast, smearing the healing paste, running into her mouth. "What am I going to do?"

The arm moved, reaching around to brush hair from her face, pulling her closer.

"It's okay, Ems. It'll be okay." The voice was right in her ear, and not inside her head. She tried to pull away, eyes opening to take in the blurred figure of her father. "Snow meant to do the right thing," he said, "but she speaks before she thinks." Emma struggled against his grip, but James' arms held firm, holding his daughter to his chest. "We'll get him back, Emma. Count on it."


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, nose swollen and eyes bruised, Emma Swan stood with her hands flat on the map table. She looked slowly at the others gathered in the half-lit tent, saw the changes in each that their time in the Enchanted Forest had caused.

They waited, expectantly, for her to speak. Taking a deep breath, Emma steeled herself for the argument to come.

"Look," she said, "we're losing this war, that much is painfully clear." Murmurs of dissent rumbled around the table, voices rising in protest and disbelief.

"We're not losing, Emma," said her mother. "Every day we're gaining ground, learning more information, building up a picture of what we're facing." The nods and noises of agreement were cut short as Emma's fist hit the table.

"We're losing. There are half the number of people around this table now, compared to when we started. And certain recent actions," Emma's eyes cut to Snow and James, stood at the other end of the table, "show quite clearly just how desperate we're getting." For a moment, the air thickened around the table as everyone turned to follow Emma's accusing stare. "For 'good' people, you've done some pretty shocking things since the curse broke. But I think trading a child's life is a new low, even for you."

Snow's face fell, crumpled, and her head dropped to her chest. She bit at her lip worriedly, hands wringing together.

"Emma…" Her father's voice was low, warning, his hand resting protectively on his wife's shoulder. _Not now,_ his tone said. _Don't do this now._

"How big's that black spot on your heart now, Mom?"

"Emma!" Now James was sharp, commanding and Emma was almost glad she'd skipped a childhood of hearing her name said like that. "Your mother and I will talk to you about Henry later. But first, while everyone's here, how about you tell us what you learnt of Rumpelstiltskin's strengths?"

His eyes begged her to change the topic, and, closing her eyes briefly and sighing, she did.

"In the weeks I was a prisoner..."

"Months, Emma." James' voice stopped his daughter's flow, and she stared at him blankly. "You were gone months."

Emma swallowed visibly, hands clenching tight around the back of the chair.

"In the months I was held, I was kept in the dark. I saw nothing - not the castle layout, not the number of servants, nothing. I couldn't even see Regina's face, and she was only arm's length from me."

Sharp intakes of breath echoed repeatedly around the table.

"Regina was there?" Emma nodded, slowly, a memory of a face lit by a soft glow floating in front of her eyes.

"She was. She healed my leg."

"I knew her disappearance was too good to believe! She's been in league with the Dark One the whole time!" Hands tightened around the hilts of swords and daggers, and Granny's crossbow had ominously appeared in her hands, finger twitching in anticipation.

"We should have killed her," she said, miming with the bow, "back in Maine, when we had the chance." The room couldn't help but agree with her, and the sound of drawn steel rang through the company.

"No - that's not right. She was a prisoner, like me. The wards keep her inside the cell. She helped me escape." There was silence for a moment, as everyone stared at the ex-Sheriff.

"I promised to go back for her. And I will." She paused, breathing, waiting for the slow signs of agreement to come. "The thing is - you're all still expecting me to be some kind of saviour, magically equipped with knowledge that's gonna win all your battles. I looked out the window once, okay, and I saw trees and mountains. Nothing distinctive."

"You don't have anything that could help us?"

Emma smiled, her hand reaching for the pages she'd torn from Rumplestiltskin's spell book.

"Only this."

The crumpled paper spread out over the table, the writing running too fast this time for even the title to be read. Emma smoothed her hands out over the corners, trying to ease out the wrinkles and sweat stains from where they had been pressed against her skin.

The others crowded round the ragged pages, blinking down at the ink.

"What is it?"

"I took them, the day I escaped. I think they say how the wards keeping Regina in the cell were constructed." Emma's confidence faltered, as suddenly her plans seemed implausible, and weak. "I thought – if she had this, she could get out of there."

Emma felt the weight of the others' eyes on her, and shifted uncomfortably. There was silence for a moment, tense and heavy, before Ruby spoke.

"I can't read any of this. What good is that?"

A shimmering light filled the air, and the Blue Fairy appeared, laughing like a peal of silver bells.

"Only those with magic can read enchanted parchments, Red," she laughed, before turning to Emma. "I'm surprised you even know what this spell is."

Emma shrugged, hands searching out jean pockets that were no longer there.

"I could read the title alright, before…"

The fairy waved people aside, daintily flying between the crowded heads to the table, alighting just by the edge of the paper.

"Well," she said, "you picked right. These are the wards to Rumpelstiltskin's castle."

"So you can undo them, right?" asked Ruby. "You can get us in?"

The fairy smiled with half her mouth, hands coming up in warning.

"No," she said, "I can't. This magic is…very human, and not something I can deal with."

"What do you mean – human?" James stepped forward.

"It's impure, inaccurate. The spell is worded in such a way that it is designed to protect the things the caster loves. The wards are powered by love, and can only be dismantled the same way. And fairies, as you know, are forbidden to love."

Somewhere behind Emma, a dwarf snorted and rolled his eyes, unseen by the crowd.

"So you're saying this is useless?" Granny, ever direct and to the point, huffed loudly, and slowly rehung her crossbow over her shoulder.

"Not useless. To the right person."

"I told you," Emma said. "I need to get this to Regina."

"But how are you going to do that now? You can't just sneak back into the dungeons like nothing's happened."

Emma grinned, shifting her weight and crossing her arms.

"I've got a plan for that. But I'm going to need some help."


	5. Chapter 5

"So when I was in there," Emma started, "in the cell, I heard the guards talk. About how they needed new guys, and they hired from travelling fairs." She stared at the faces round the table, all frowning in confusion. "Like, in the Disney film, the evil queen disguises herself as a hag, and you know how back in Maine Cora was – well – everyone, well I reckon we get the fairies to just disguise me up, and I get hired as one of Rumplestiltskin's guards. Then, well, I bust Regina out of the cell, we grab Henry and torch the place on the way out."

She knew it wasn't the most complicated plan in the world, but it's what Emma had come to in the dark of her son's empty room. Simple and straightforward, she'd often found, were the most successful ways forward.

"That's..." James trailed off, stuck for words.

"That's stupid," Snow White finished her husband's words. "It's reckless, and gung-ho. It's daft, it's completely ridiculous."

"It ain't gonna work sister," Leroy chimed in. "What's to stop Regina just turning on you, soon as she's out?"

"She won't," Emma insisted as the room broke down into a cacophony of protests and coutner-arguments, each voice clamouring to be heard above the others.

"It's unworkable." The Blue Fairy voice was final, solemn, cutting through din into sudden silence.

"What, why?"

"You don't think Rumplestiltskin screens his guards? You don't think they'd detect such an enchantment at once?"

Emma sighed, and hung her head, leaning her hands heavily on the table in front of her.

"Well," surprisingly – or perhaps not – Snow White sounded oddly pleased that her daughter's plans had fallen through, "that's that then. We'll just have to think of another idea."

"Oh yeah?" An indiscernible voice piped up in the background. "Who're you gonna sacrifice next?"

"Who said that?" James' hand was on the hilt of sword, ready to draw.

"I suggest you all calm down – we've got enough problems without fighting each other." Granny's crossbow was lowered dangerously into the crowd, bolt notched and drawn back. "And don't think I won't be using this either."

She looked at Emma, direct and questioning.

"So not a magic disguise then. What else?"

"Well," said Emma, pulling ruefully at the ends of her curls, "I guess it's time to cut my hair and bind my breasts. It won't be the first time. I've passed before, I can pass again." A general murmuring broke out among the crowd, and Emma tried to avoid her parents' aghast eyes. She didn't know why it should be such an embarrassing confession: they didn't know the previous circumstances, even if the memory still brought a flush of heat to her face, and she could easily claim she'd been acting in a school play or some such. Alright – perhaps not a play, but something innocent. She ground the toe of her boot into the floor, and waited for someone to offer concrete suggestions.

"Ems," said Red, "you don't look anything like a man. Trust me, I know." She winked salaciously, and ran her tongue across the edge of her teeth, bringing new flushes of colour to Emma's cheeks.

"With a haircut, the right clothes, I can pull it off. It's not like I'm going to be doing guard duty naked or anything."

But the Blue Fairy was circling round her, hand raised to her chin, contemplating.

"There are things – other than spells – that might help. I've a potion for hair growth that would give you a beard."

"You don't have a terribly feminine walk, babe," James offered. The others too, were beginning to look at her differently, assessing the likelihood of getting away with the audacious plan. "It might work..."

"It will work, James – it has to."

The camp was transformed over the next few hours into a whirl of barbers and tailors, cutting, dyeing and shaping under Snow White's horrified eyes until her baby daughter was transformed, well, into something more closely resembling a son.

The fairies' potion smelt foul, and felt even worse as Emma applied it to her skin, but soon she felt a tingling in the skin of her cheeks, an itching scratch that irritated. Even as she scratched her nails along the line of her jaw, she could feel the sharp points of stubble beginning to show.

"Just rub a little in before bed each night," the Blue Fairy advised, "and in the morning you can shave with the others."

Emma eyed herself in the mirror, running her hand through her hair, surprised still by the shortness of it, her hand falling unexpectedly at the end.

"Not a bad looking guy, if I do say so myself," she quipped, meeting Ruby's eyes in the mirror. Her friend sidled up from behind, snaking her arms around the flat chest and down towards her hips. Resting her chin on Emma's shoulder, she too openly appraised the male reflection standing before her.

"Pretty perfect, really, apart from what we know is missing." And her hand crept down between Emma's legs, cupping the space where Emma had imagined her extra anatomy would have been magically conjured dick by now.

"Yeah well – not a big loss, is it?"

"Big enough if someone notices." The girls' laughter was cut off as they turned to face Snow White, leaning in the entrance. "This plan really is foolish, Emma, and going to get you killed. Is that what you want? Is that what you think Henry wants?"

Emma struggled out of Ruby's arms, that still clung loosely around her, and held up a warning hand.

"Don't..." she started.

"Henry wouldn't want you to..." Emma stepped forwards, bringing her within swinging distance of the other woman, all semblance of control suddenly gone.

"Don't you dare use my son to manipulate me. It is your fault that we're in this position. What kind of mother are you if you think I would ever have wanted to trade my own safety for his? What kind of mother sends her child through a – _wormhole_ – completely unaccompanied?"

"Emma," her mother began, "you know we were giving you your best chance – and look, you rescued us all!"

"Look, here's the thing. I know that the last you remember is your baby, all wrapped in a blanket. I'm not her, Snow, I haven't been her for thirty years. I'm an adult, and I've been on my own forever. I make my own decisions, and if those decisions include cross-dressing and stealing Regina and our son back, then that's what I'm going to do. Whether you approve or not."

Rant finished, Emma stood, face flushed and bound chest heaving, and watched Snow turn silently on her heel and leave.

Emma turned back to the mirror, preening at her reflection, shifting her weight from leg to leg, purposefully ignoring Red's open mouthed shock.

"So – what do you think I should call myself?"

And so, a few days later, there he sat, Edward Cooper, with a name pulled out of thin air, a pocket full of change and several empty tankards in front of him. The fair wasn't till tomorrow, and Emma had decided just to spend the time watching, and drinking. The tactic had worked as a bounty hunter – lie low with a drink and a scowl and no-one will bother you until you want them to – and it would work now. Currently, she had her eye on a group of soldiers in the corner, more drunk than her, and currently working each other up with more and more outlandish bets.

There was a fair chance, she thought, that these men were the recruiters she'd come to meet. They'd had plenty of coin, and cared little for those around them, snapping fingers at the waitresses and drowning out most other conversation with their drunken laughter. Certainly not selling at tomorrow's fair, and they'd be in poor shape to guard anything either. They were in a buying mood, then, and Emma – or Edward as she now had to be – was putting herself on sale.

"Gods, you're all boring!" shouted the drunkest of them. "Will no-one give us a real challenge?"

The chatter in the tavern died down, and people pressed their faces more closely into their cups. Slowly, the armoured arm levered himself out of his chair, and stumbled from table to table, demanding a challenge from the intimidated patrons. Emma watched him work his way round the room, his sword knocking drinks and furnishings flying as he turned and tripped. Slowly, table by table, he got closer.

"Alright then, lad, what about you?" His breath was toxic, blowing straight into her face. "Reckon you're cleverer than me? Reckon you can beat me? Ten golds says you can't." More than a month's wages on a single bet. Emma pretended to weigh her coin purse, letting desperation shine in her eyes.

"Lie to me." The simple request took the man by surprise, and he leaned back, bringing the boy into better focus, although there may still have been two of him.

"What?"

"I'll take your bet. Ten gold coins says you can't lie to me, without me knowing." The soldier considered the proposition for a second, swaying dangerously on the balls of his feet. Then he grabbed her by the arm, and began to bodily pull her towards the table of his friends. Emma managed to hold onto her drink, carrying it along with her, slurping at the spilling liquid as they went.

"Right now," said the man, "this lad here –"

"Edward."

"Edward here has a challenge for us. We each tell him something in turn, and he guesses whether or not we's lying. He gets them all right, he gets ten golds. He gets even one wrong…" The men around the table laughed nastily, and – not for the first time that evening – Emma had to wonder whether Snow hadn't been right after all.


End file.
